


Domesticated Punks

by KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Of Hunters and Hellblazers [17]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Constandean, Drunken Shenanigans, Flirting, In-Jokes, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Musical References, guinea pig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean take Cas and John Constantine back to the Men of Letters' Bunker in preparation to summon an apparently living Gabriel. It's going to get awkward. For everyone.</p><p>Also known as the one with ALL the sexual tension. And a guinea pig...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story occurs after [Of Hunters and Hellblazers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2774576) and before [Bad Ideas and Kitchen Sex](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2782823)

Dean hadn’t wanted to bring Constantine back to the Bunker at all. But apparently Dean's opinion didn't matter. And it turned out that Sam, for some unknown reason, had a stash of Gabriel’s feathers there. Making it the best base of operations for their plan to summon and trap the undead archangel.

They only kept Cas’s feathers in the trunk unfortunately. And even then only a few, left over from the angel vs pepper incident of 2010 and that one pinion feather from Purgatory which Dean wouldn’t part with.

And didn’t that say something about their lives? Dean wasn’t sure what it said really but because it was about his life it was probably a _bad_ something.

Constantine had the good grace to seem a bit impressed by the Bunker at least.

“So, the Men of Letters, huh?” John said it matter of fact with a slight sneer. But the way his hand trailed reverently along a bookshelf put the lie to his tone.

Even when he sounded insolent his expression gave away his genuine admiration for place. And _maybe_ for the men in it? Dean was never sure on that one. He could never quite pin down how the Hellblazer felt about them. About _him_... Sometimes they fought each other harder than the demons they were meant to hunt. But then other times they kissed like it meant something... Not that it mattered. Wasn’t like he _cared_ what John Constantine thought about him. Dean shrugged off the thought.

“If I knew you lads got your act together this much I would’a called you months ago,” John said.

“Just as well you didn’t then,” Dean snarked. Constantine just winked at him and continued exploring the bookshelves. But Sam glared to tell Dean to 'cut it out' and 'don't be rude to guests'. Whatever. The exorcist wasn't a guest - he was an inconvenience.

And the thing is that should have been it. The whole topic could have been dropped then and there. But _no_ , Sam had to be _Sam_ and open his big mouth.

“So, why didn’t you?” Sam asked. “Why didn’t you get in touch? After... Jasper? We didn't even know he died.”

Constantine actually looked uncomfortable and Dean allowed himself to enjoy it.

“Heard some rumours,” the Hellblazer shrugged. “Wasn’t sure I wanted to confirm ‘em.” He glanced at Dean when he spoke and there was something in those strange brown eyes that Dean really didn’t want to confirm either. “Some questions just ain’t worth answerin’.”

“Oh,” Sam said. And then, because sometimes even Sam knows when to let something drop, “So, I was wondering about your adjustment to the sigil on the West point of the summoning circle?” Thank you Sammy.

Dean frowned at the exorcist’s back where he bent over the table to talk Sammy through the sigil. What would Constantine have done if they _had_ met up a few months ago? You couldn’t exorcise a Knight of Hell. Not from his own body. Hell, Dean hadn’t even been able to smoke out really. But exorcisms had never been all the Hellblazer had up his sleeves.

A small demon black part of Dean, the part he had been hiding from for months, wondered about that. Wondered if _Dean Winchester_ could have been the demon to finally take down the Hellblazer. Sure Constantine had defeated the Nergal, literally kicked Hastur in the balls and faced down Azazel more than once. But it was _Dean_ who had killed Azazel. Even Crowley was scared of Constantine. But Crowley had been scared of Dean too. Really scared. And the Mark on his arm pulsed hot at that memory.

Dean startled when Castiel placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Dean?” Cas rumbled, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean said gruffly. “Guy just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

He didn’t bother adding that the real problem was when the guy rubbed him just the right way too.


	2. Chapter 2

So Dean tried to take Constantine’s advice and avoided asking uncomfortable question at all. Choosing to snipe and needle at the older man instead. Falling back into a familiar and slightly antagonistic form of flirtation. He’d been less aggressive about it with Sammy in the room, of course. Kept more physical distance. Didn’t touch. And the exorcist had picked up on that. Managing to both respect his reticence around Sam and still use it to his advantage.

He wasn’t being as obvious about moving into Dean’s space as he normally would. But he still managed to do it. Bending over the hunter to get a book. Brushing up on his way through a door. Leaning against the same wall just a little too close. Body hot temptation. Smirking the whole time. Angling his chair just a little closer than was normal. Holding eye contact for just a little too long. Innuendos dropped into every second sentence. Little things slowly adding up until Dean felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

And he stretched and shifted way more often that could possibly be necessary. Watching Dean’s eyes follow his movement and drag across his throat. Flinging himself into chairs, legs and arms all over the place. Constantly fidgeting. Drawing attention to his hands. And Dean couldn’t help staring. Then the demonologist would smirk some more. Or raise an eyebrow and stare back if Dean glared at him. Acting like he wasn’t doing anything wrong by frigging flaunting himself.

Oh and the smoking. In the Bunker. In the _library_! They were legacies damn it. They shouldn’t be letting some dude waltz around damaging one of the most extensive collections of occult lore in the world with his stupid habits. Forcing Dean to watch his lips and fingers as he practically caressed each cigarette – he was freaking obscene with the damn things.

Dean had walked into the library with the last of his stuff from the car to find Constantine there too. Going over the index system or something with Sammy. And already smoking. In the _library_. God, could he get any more obnoxious.

“Out!” Dean had said, pointing to the door behind him. “ _Outside_ right now.”

“Oh hell, this isn’t going to be like the sodding car is it?” Constantine had asked. And it sounded like a normal complaint but he winked when he said it. Dean swallowed.

“It is exactly like the ‘ _sodding’_ car, Constantine.”

Oops. Had Dean just implied he was going to ride the Hellblazer half way to heaven? Yep. That was it exactly. Because then Constantine was grinning at him like someone handed him a fucking trophy. Damn it. That was gonna…

“I said he could,” Sam said, interrupting Dean’s spiraling thoughts.

“In the frigging _library_ , Sam?”

“There are ashtrays _everywhere_ , Dean. The Men of Letters obviously smoked in here all the time. John’s only here for a few days. I don’t think it’ll make that much of a difference.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm pulling him aside a few steps and ignoring the exorcist.

“Since when are you John Constantine’s biggest fucking fan?” Dean hissed.

“Since when _aren’t_ you?” Sam whispered back harshly.

“That isn’t what I mean," Dean said, flustered. "You’re acting like we _owe_ him something. And trust me you do not want to owe that son of a bitch anything.” He didn’t really care if Constantine could hear them. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t said to the dude’s face after all.

“God Dean we _do_ owe him.”

“Since fucking when?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe since he went to Hell and back for you?” Sam raised his voice. There was no way the Hellblazer didn’t hear that one.

Dean blinked at Sam for a few moments before he turned on Constantine. 

“He what,” Dean said. Low and menacing. He was asking Sam but he was glaring at the smoke wreathed mage. The guy was stock still, cigarette half way to his lips. Eyes on Dean. Waiting for the reaction. Dean could feel his own heart beat pick up.

Dean _knew_ what that meant. He wasn’t sure what the cost would have been but he knew it was always high. Too high. Not to mention the sheer danger associated with the demonologist going to Hell. Constantine was at the top of even more demonic hit lists than the Winchesters. And Hell was… well it was Hell. It was their domain. They were so much more powerful there.

He’d seen John at least three times since and they’d spoken dozens of times more especially during the Apocalypse. Even emailed now and then despite the fact Constantine was even worse with replying than Dean was. He’d never even hinted. Dean’s hand unconsciously twitched towards his left shoulder. The hand print, scars long healed by angelic restoration but it still showed up in the shower or if he blushed. Remembered being pressed hard into a wall, Constantine’s hand mirroring the grace brand. Breathing the words ‘fucking gorgeous’ into Dean’s flesh. Seeing whatever else it was he saw. And not a word that he’d seen anything worse. Not a hint that he’d tried. Dean’s breath caught.

As usual Constantine read him like a picture book. “I didn’t see anything. Didn’t even do any good,” John shrugged. “Couldn’t get close enough...”

“Stop, I don’t want to know,” Dean interrupted. He didn’t even realize he’d moved until he was in face to face with the Hellblazer. Crowding him against the index cabinet. Fist bunched into the exorcist's shirt. And Sammy was shouting his name. Sam was scared of him. Of what he might do. And he didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. But this wasn’t the Mark. If Dean was honest with himself it was more fear than anger. More protective, more lust than blood lust. 

Dean had come close to punching Constantine once before and those brown eyes held the same wary confidence they had then. He didn’t really think Dean was going to attack him but knew just how much he could take if he did.

“You don't owe me anything,” Dean said. Controlling his voice as best he could. And he knew that inversion would confuse the crap out of Sam even more. Because he didn’t know about Louisiana. Hadn’t been privy to half a dozen late night conversations. Swamp light promises, unspoken lies and blood sweetened words. But it didn’t matter. This was more important. No human should have braved Hell for Dean Winchester. Most days he wasn’t even sure an angel should have either.

“Never thought I did, luv.”

Dean knew it was a lie. But he also knew it was the best either of them would get, or give. And he wasn't ready to deal with this. Yet another guilty painful debt. Fuck it. He didn't need to fight this one today. So close he could feel Constantine breathing. Felt the old magnetic pull of the other man’s body. Smell of smoke and sandalwood. Constantine's hand hovered by his arm but didn't touch.

“Right,” Dean said. Pushing down hard on dark emotions and urges. He surprised all of them again by prying the cigarette out of Constantine’s hand. “Good.”

Dean inhaled long and slow without dropping eye contact. Blew a smoke ring, just the way Constantine taught him. Watched the smirk come back in full force then winked at the Hellblazer, before he turned to grab his bag and walk out of the room. 

“Dean?” Sam sounded strangled by shock.

“If he’s allowed then so am I,” Dean threw back over his shoulder. It was a comfortingly familiar justification. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean could have dealt with all of the flirting - with him. He was used to it. And ultimately he kind of knew he was going to give in. But then the limey bastard started switching it up by flirting with Cas as well. _Flirting_ with Castiel; an _angel_ of the Lord. Before turning his attentions back on Dean – presumably when he got bored of having his overtly sexual _everything_ ignored or misunderstood by the angel. Dean was pretty sure he was either going to kill the guy or die of sexual frustration.

At some point Constantine found a reason to lean over Cas and whisper in his ear. Kept his eyes on Dean the whole time, though. And Cas smiled like a goddamn sun. It burned like one too.

Dean very manfully resisted the urge to go closer. He was just curious. That was all. Perfectly normal. His mind did flash to an memory of Constantine muttering about trench coats on the floor. Damn it. He wasn’t going to let Constantine’s goading flirtation affect him. Nope. Not at all. Cas was a frigging angel. Dean did not need that shit on his conscience. His ledger was bleeding enough red ink as it was.

He just wanted to know what the Hellblazer had to say to an angel. That was _all_. Just curiosity. Why did he need to whisper things to someone else’s angel, anyway? Especially to Dean’s angel. Shit, did he just think that? _Damn_ it. He didn’t mean it like _that_.

Just that Constantine apparently had his own crazy angel following him around. A Grigori, Cas had said, whatever that was. An angel Dean had never even _seen_ let alone pawed all over… Christ. He had a problem. And he wasn’t sure if the problem was Constantine or Cas. Maybe both. God _damn_ it.

“You alright, man?” Sam asked. Looming over Dean suddenly.

“What?” Dean startled. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Okay…” Sam handed him a beer.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Sam said. Still sounding suspicious. But he went back to the table where he and Cas were trawling through boxes of supplies for… _something_. Dean didn’t actually remember.

“So, Constantine,” Dean said only a little louder than necessary. “How’d you manage to piss off an Archangel?” John had already evaded this question a few times. But any conversation at all should do to distract Sammy from worrying - for a while, at least.

“Buggered if I know,” Constantine said. He dropped into the seat next to Dean. Obviously taking Dean’s attention as a signal to start pestering him again. Joy. But at least he wasn’t breathing all over Castiel.

“Nothing new then,” Dean sniped.

“Brassed off a lot’a people for a lot’a reasons,” Constantine said seeming to ignore Dean’s addition to the conversation. “Don’t think the ol’ Trickster ever needed a reason, mind you. Either way ‘m fucked.” Then, leaning closer and speaking lower for Dean’s ears only: “You 'in the angel could probably help with that last one.”

Dean caught his breath. Great. Now he had _images_ in his head. He got up quickly to change the music. It gave him a convenient escape. It may also have been opportunity to prove that two can play that game. He frowned at the records for a bit before he found the one he wanted.

“Nazareth, Winchester? Really?” Constantine was smirking at him again. Tapping his fingers indecently against the edge of his chair. “Thought it was more of a Ramones night, me self.” God that grin.

Of course Dean got the reference and fricking blushed. Like some teenage kid. He didn’t remember when or how it had developed as some stupid code between them. Different songs or bands referring back to various sex acts or hook ups. But he wasn’t giving _that_ away in front of Sam and Cas. It was dangerous enough having the damn Hellblazer in the Bunker for a few days at all.

“Punk’s dead,” Dean snapped. Do- not- rise to the bait.

“Not this one, mate,” Constantine said. “Then again, maybe I just _wanna be sedated_?” He said it with his most innocent tone. Blinking up at Dean like some sort of demonic kitten. And _that_ always meant trouble.

Dean grinned anyway, understanding the kinky implications of the quote. Damn it. Sam was _right_ there. Get it under control, Winchester.

He leaned back against the wall next to the record player to finish his drink. It kept him out of reach but still directly in front Constantine. And, more importantly, just out of Sam’s line of sight. Safer. A much better tactical position. It helped that Dean knew exactly the effect watching him drink a bottle of beer could have on the Hellblazer. He’d found out hard and fast the second time they hooked up. It’d been pretty awesome.

“Classic rock is just so much _tighter_ ,” Dean smirked back at the exorcist.

“Oh shots fired mate,” Constantine said, smirking grin and eyes hellfire bright.

“ _What_ are you two bitching about now?” Sam said grumpily. But he didn’t turn around so he missed Dean letting his drink sit on his lip just a little too long to watch Constantine choke on his own. Probably just as well.

“Just the Hellblazer’s lack of taste in music Sammy,” Dean said without taking his eyes off Constantine. “Nothing new.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean Winchester was drunk. In his more introspective moments he knew that wasn’t unusual in itself – not these days. But tonight he was a warmer, happier, kind of drunk than he had been in months. The edges of reality had been sanded down by beer and whiskey. Smoothed off until his life wasn’t quite as pointlessly sharp and painful as it had been a few hours ago.

Sam had been sent off in search of more beer. “You’re the youngest, Sam. It’s simple man.”

Leaving him with an equally drunk John Constantine and Castiel who was still too angelic to be drunk. For some reason that was soothing as well. Knowing that Cas was still angel enough to blow open doors, smite demons, and needed to drink an entire liquor store before he got drunk. It made up for the growing number of human gestures, the occasional need for sleep, and a string of other little terrifying things. All those biting memories of his broken attempts at humanity; his stolen grace slowly burning him back there. Damn. That was depressing.

Dean shook himself and blinked off the thought. Focus on the problem at hand. The problem that was John Constantine. Though that almost went without thinking. Because Constantine and problem were basically synonymous. Dean smirked at his own internal joke and finally brought his attention back to the table. Just in time to notice that John was most definitely hitting on Dean’s angel… the angel. Not Dean’s angel. Why did he keep thinking that? Just _not_ Constantine’s angel. Whatever. Dean knew what he meant.

“So, Thursday, you think big brother’s gonna try smite ja for helpin’ the dirty monkeys get one over on ‘em?” Constantine drawled.

He was leaning back in his chair, one arm on the back of it, hand almost brushing Dean’s shoulder, a predatory open stance. Wide flirtatious smile. Waving that damn cigarette around to punctuate every second word. He might be angled towards Dean, close enough to share body heat, but all his aggressively sexual energy was focused at the opposite side of the table – at Cas. Dean rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

“I do not think Gabriel would harm me. Not for simply talking to him.” Cas said. Precise. Slightly mocking (that was still new). Totally oblivious. Ha, take that Hellblazer.

“Last night on earth, _really_ Constantine?” Dean said. “On an angel? I thought you had more up your sleeve than that.”

“Dunno, luv,” the demonologist smirked. “Seemed to work a right treat for you, if I recall.”

Dean felt himself flush. Because, yeah, it had worked pretty well even if Constantine had known it was a line. He could still remember the hot slide of the other man’s skin on his back. Could almost taste that freaky lace comforter he’d been biting down on. The smell of New Orleans, ash and Constantine. Louisiana bourbon and smoke... Dean masked his distraction with his drink.

“Yeah?” Dean said, “So we’re swapping playbooks? Suppose that leaves me with my best Cheshire Cat and some Ramones’ quotes?”

“You know me, mate,” Constantine laughed. “Whatever works.”

Dean scowled and clamped down on the first three things that he wanted to say. All of which were way too filthy for mixed company.

Cas was watching them both carefully but not trying to participate like he normally did. Dean wondered, not for the first time, just how much more Cas actually got these days. After his fiction and media download from Metatron. Did it change the way the angel saw humanity? Saw him? How much did he understand but chose to ignore? The angel was looking at them with that ‘you are a puzzle and I will solve you’ expression. Dean hated that expression. And maybe loved it a bit too. Fuck. Dean was staring back at Cas, yet again. And the Hellblazer was chuckling.

Constantine leaned over to whisper, “Don’t think I’m the one with an angel problem, luv.” Dean glared at him.

"I don't hit on Manny," Dean said. Part distraction part complaint.

"Only 'cause you can't see the prick. An' anyway he don't like 'em Righteous. Or possibly at all, hard t' tell..."

Luckily Sam reappeared with more beer saving Dean from Constantine's commentary and the question he could see forming on Cas's lips.

“Sammy thank god,” Dean said. Taking his fresh beer eagerly. Sam just gave him a bemused look.

“Sorry if you got caught up in their dick measuring contest, Cas,” Sam said as he distributed the rest of the drinks. Took a seat between Dean and Cas because the space he had previously occupied as Winchester vs Constantine mediator had closed in his absence.

“I am _honestly_ unsure,” Cas said. Frowning at Dean again.

“Don’t worry, mate,” Constantine said. “We both know who’d win that 'un.” Smug bastard. Dean could feel his cheeks heat up.

“Blow me, Constantine,” he snapped. Covered his grin with his drink.

“Sure thing, luv.”

Dean choked.

“So,” Sam said quickly. Changing the subject. Jumping to Dean’s defense. Unknowingly protecting himself from his brother making a comment about too much teeth. “You’re really not fazed about facing down an archangel?”

“I snogged the Devil, mate. I can manage his smarmy git of a kid brother any day o’ the week.”

“I think we’ve established we can all deal with the artist-formerly-known-as-Loki,” Dean said. “ _No one’s_ last night on earth.” It only came out a little grouchy.

“Hang on, back up,” Sam said. Ignoring Dean. People were doing that a lot tonight. “You did _what_? With Lucifer?” Sam looked like he might throw up.

“It was nothing,” Constantine said with a shrug. “One of the first secrets of magic... is distraction.”

He reached across Dean and pulled an old coin out of the air behind Sam’s ear with a flourish. Flicked his wrist, threw it in the air and it disappeared again. Sam was drunk enough to laugh. Dean would have too actually. If the other hand hadn't made its way to the back of Dean's neck. A soft, calming caress at odds with the coy parlor trick that masked it. Making Dean flush deeper and sink back unwillingly into the contact. Sam's laugh battered away at the tension sneaking up on them all. Put a crack in it but didn’t quite break it.

“New King’s a better kisser, anyway, in my considered opinion,” Constantine continued, the turn in conversation itself a distraction. "He’s had a lot more practice, mind." He dropped back into his own chair. Releasing Dean and letting him breathe again. Leaving a bitter tingling trace of human contact on Dean's skin. “But I suppose Crowely’s not the Devil, is he? He just don’t got it in ‘em. No matter how much he’s gagging for it... He's basically the big guy's bureaucratic dunny man.”

“Is there _anything_ we’ve ever met that hasn’t had its tongue down your throat?” Dean snapped. He knew it wasn’t the right conversational path to follow, but couldn’t help it. He _was_ grateful for pulling Sam away from thoughts of Lucifer. He really was. But it just slipped out. A verbal repost. Defensive and natural, like the holds, body blocks and knife defenses trained into him since he was 6 years old. Muscle memory rather than choice.

“Your angel,” Constantine replied, whip quick. “Oh an’ Alast-… um Alec. You’ve met Alec Holland. Though he did possess me that one time… he stuck my tongue down someone else's throat I suppose - don’t know if that counts?”

“When was that?” Sam said looking at Dean. He sounded genuinely disappointed and confused. Damn it. Dean couldn’t deal with the disappointed voice tonight. Just about anything else but disappointed; it cut right to the part of him that practically raised Sammy. The big brother whose whole identity was built on protecting Sammy. He could almost hear John Winchester’s ghost, _“If you won’t do it for yourself or for me, do it for Sammy. You’re a role model, Dean... Act like one.”_

“I don’t tell you everything Sam.” It was too sharp. Not an answer. Not even a real deflection.

“Evidently not…”

“Alec Holland, as in…” Cas re-entered the conversation, saving Dean yet again. He sounded genuinely impressed though. Of course he did. Stupid Hellblazer.

“Yep, Alec Holland. Elemental, force of nature incarnate. Keeper of The Green. That’s the bloke. Nice chap once you get past… everythin’ about him. Izizop mir izharaji.” The last words were spoken in a freaky thrumming accent that made Dean’s skin crawl. "I just call 'em Swamp Thing."

Cas blinked. Surprised. “You speak Enochian?”

“Nah mate, hardly. Just picked up a little from a friend. Even me Proto-Sumerian is better.” Constantine managed to both shrug it off and look smug at the same time. How is that even humanly possible? It’s probably the demon blood.

“Great vessel… planted or impregnated with... something?” Sam tried to translate. Of course he did. See Winchesters can speak weird ass angel languages too.

“Planted with plants… sort’a,” John answered. Lighting another cigarette. Looking to Cas. For a correction maybe? “It’s a hard one to translate. Plant o’ plants basically.” Another shrug, as much with the face as the body.

Cas’s face did the bunch of tiny little motions that added up to agreement. Dean didn’t even try to resist the fond smile this time. Why bother. Constantine was going to notice and torture him about it either way.

Constantine rattled off another long string of humming syllables. Yet another language, and too fast for Sam who frowned in confusion. But Cas laughed. He actually laughed, real and deep and true. And ducked his head in a gesture even Dean didn’t recognize. Was he blushing? Flustered? Whatever the Hellblazer had said Dean both desperately wanted to know and kind of wished it never happened.

“Oh, an’ Lilith,” Constantine said. Snapping his fingers and snagging Dean’s attention back to him. “I never touched Lilith and I _know_ you boys know her. I’ve exorcized her a few times ‘o course. But never snogged her.”

“Hah, a) that doesn’t count. She was a little girl half the time,” Dean said. “And b) Sam killed Lilith so we’re not impressed.” Childish? Maybe. But better than the alternatives.

“Oh, yeah mate, I almost forgot – stab first ask questions never…. Look how that turned out for the world?”

“Seriously?” Sam demanded. “Do I have to send you two out back with a frigging ruler?”

Dean snatched the cigarette packed out of the air as Constantine played with it mindlessly. Masking his discomfort. He lit one then threw the little box back. 

“Oi,” the mage snapped but there wasn’t any real heat to it. More amused surprise than anything.

Sam, on the other hand, looked scandalized.

“Since _when_ do you smoke, Dean?” Sam said. All puffed up with accusation that just made Dean think of the chubby twelve year-old he would’ve done anything for. Still would, really. Except maybe have this conversation.

“Since I have to play nice with Dr Strange over there...”

“That’s uncalled for,” Constantine muttered. “I’m better ‘in that poncey wanker.”

“What?” Sam and Dean asked simultaneously.

“Nothing,” John put his hands up in mock surrender. Exchanged a look with Cas that Dean didn't have time to analyze.

“And why did you never tell me that you met a freaking _plant-person_ for that matter?” Sam said. Hellblazer dismissed in favor of pursuing this line of questioning. Dean was starting to think this conversation was about a lot more than cigarettes. His warm buzz was fading quick.

“Look _he_ ,” Dean waved dismissively in Constantine’s direction, “may have helped me on a few hunts while you were at Stanford. It’s not a big deal…”

"Not a big deal?" Sam was giving him that patented searching yet disbelieving look he was getting way too familiar with. "Something you failed to mention for ten years, isn't a big deal?" He could feel himself being backed into a corner. Every instinct telling him to fight his way out or run.

He could sense the admission on the tip of his tongue. Alcohol loose. Could almost hear his voice framing words he still didn’t have. How would Sam react? It wasn’t the first time he had tried to guess. Would he care? Would he find it funny? Disgust? Disbelief? Anger… jealousy? That was the one that chilled his blood. Even Winchesters can't ignore some things forever. He wasn’t sure there was a way out of this particular pit.

However, yet again Cas decided to rescue a Winchester from the seemingly insurmountable hole he threw himself in.

“There is someone approaching the Bunker,” Cas announced. It was a general statement, not directed at anyone in particular but it was enough. Just.

Sam took a breath. Dean slouched back in his chair. Constantine grinned. Several beats of silence. Crisis averted for tonight. Hopefully.

“Sooo... That’ll be Chas- and me wee surprise!” the Hellblazer said with far too much glee.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Surprise,” he said. It wasn't a question. Constantine just raised his drink in a mocking salute and winked. That couldn’t be good.

“ _I’ll_ get it then,” Sam said with resignation when the proximity alarm went off again and no one moved.

"I'll come too," Dean said, stubbing out his cigarette and starting to stand. "Cas, don't let him... corrupt you or anything while we're gone."

"I very much doubt that is going to happen, Dean," Castiel said. Dry but still possibly mocking. It was always hard to tell.

"Thursday's right, luv" Constantine added. "We'd wait for you." Grinning up at Dean, goblin bright and unreasonably seductive. Fuck this. Dean was sick of being on the back foot.

He bent back down, smooth and fast, so he could whisper in the man's ear. Ignoring Sam's curiosity and Cas's proximity. "You know what Constantine you might've made out with Satan," Dean whispered. Sin sweet and lust rough. Actually taking a leaf out of the other guy's playbook now. "But I've fucked the Hellblazer so hard he called for God - I think I win."

Dean was pulling back to follow Sam but Constantine caught him by his plaid over-shirt. From the outside it must have looked aggressive. Aggressive enough that Cas started to stand and Sam froze in the doorway, ready for action. Too aggressive even - anyone who really knew him knew he would try play dead or wheedle his way out before he went on the offensive like that.

"Nah, mate," John whispered back. "I fucked Dean Winchester so sweet he begged for more... Ask anyone, best bleeding hunter on the planet- I think you'll find _I_ win."

Dean really did pull back then. Released before anyone tried to intervene. "Yeah?" Remember to breathe, Winchester. "You might have to prove that one."

"Anytime, mate." Another hellfire smile; still burning under Dean's skin when he left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

It was official – there was no hope. Dean had thought he would get a break when Chas finally turned up. But no. Of course not. Constantine was just as shameless around his own friends as he was around Dean’s family.

Chas arrived as predicted. Of course who else would be knocking on the doors of an apparently abandoned water silo at midnight. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to find the large man on their doorstep.

The surprise was what he was carrying. A small bag over one shoulder and a large pink and white animal cage dwarfed in his arms.

“Sam, Dean,” Chas nodded to them both.

“Hey Chas, good to see you man,” Sam said. Ignoring the fluffy sawdust dwelling problem the other giant was carrying – that was Sam ever the good host. “Come on in”

“What _is_ that?” Dean asked, because he never cared about that nonsense. But he still stepped aside to allow both Chas and his burden into the Bunker.

“Zed,” Chas sighed.

The brothers shared a subtle shrug then led their guest down into the war room where he could place the cage on a table.

Constantine, presumably bored of failing to tempt an angel into depravity, sauntered into the entrance area. Slid past Dean and managed to come just close enough to leave a grazing touch. Dean felt the lack of contact more than the actual movement. Suddenly aware of every inch that could have connected and didn’t.

“Chas!” Constantine said patting his friend on the back. Then walked over to the cage to withdraw a small black fluffy creature. “Zed!”

“Why is he in such a good mood?” Chas asked suspiciously. His eyes were narrowed and he looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Probably well founded.

Dean shrugged. Tried to communicate ‘hell if I know’ and ‘don’t look at me’ without actually having to outright lie.

“That’s a guinea pig…” Sam stated. And oh god no, he seemed intrigued. The dog thing was bad enough without adding rodents to the mix. He really hoped Constantine wasn’t going to sacrifice it or some other creepy magic shit. Sam might never get over it.

“Ah ah ah, don’t touch. She’s a _psychic_ guinea pig.” Constantine held the guinea pig out of reach when Sam reached in to pet it. “You’ll contaminate her resonant field.”

“She’s also a person,” Chas pointed out in a smooth rumble.

“Oh, yeah that too,” Constantine shrugged off the correction.

“A person?” Dean said. Not that this was the oddest thing that had happened lately. But he felt the need to maintain some semblance of scepticism.

“Yes,” Constantine said firmly. Like he hadn’t just needed a reminder about the importance of that very fact. “This is why I’m gonna give that archangel a right bollocking.” The guinea pig gave an indignant squeak as she was thrust in Dean’s face for emphasis.

“Right,” Dean said. Giving in. Psychic guinea pig woman. Why not.

“Winchesters, this is Zed. Zed those are the Winchesters. Started and stopped the last apocalypse. Very famous.” He spun around to face the doorway Cas had appear in. “And _that’s_ the Winchester’s angel. More pro-active, you might say, than ours. He’s possessing some poor sod too so you’ll be able to have a natter – you’ll like that I suppose. They’ll tell you it isn’t as bad as demons ‘cos of _destiny_. Hah. They breed people like cattle, Zed. Your precious angels. Breed us an’ wear us.” Zed snuffled the exorcist's hand and got a little scratch to the head. Cas looked like he’d been slapped but remained suspiciously silent on the whole matter. Dean wanted to point out that Cas wasn't technically possessing anyone. But considering why that was he decided not to bring it up. It probably wouldn't actually help his case.

“How much has he had to drink?” Chas asked. Resigned to his fate as a permanent adult babysitter.

“Not drunk enough to ignore that, mate,” Constantine answered for himself.

Chas walked over and prised the unfortunate Zed back from John. He produced a carrot from somewhere and fed it to her while John glared up at him.

“So we’re here, when can we get her back to normal?” Chas asked.

“5:23 am on Monday morning,” Constantine answered immediately.

“That’s really specific,” Sam said with a frown. They never bothered with the time stuff when summoning anyone and it always seemed to work.

“It’s also the day after tomorrow. I didn’t have to drive through the night to get here,” Chas said with a sigh.

“Technically it’s only tomorrow, now. Besides, Zed’ve missed me,” John said. Chas did not look convinced. “And, I needed me things. Oh, and more fags, you didn’t forget the smokes did you?”

“No, I didn’t forget,” Chas handed over the bag he had with him.

“Brilliant,” Constantine said and started to rifle through the bag.

“5:23 in the morning?” Dean prompted.

“Oh, right,” Constantine said gesturing with what looked like a gold angel blade. “Angels are weakest when the sun and the morning star share the sky. That’s good ol’ Venus to you ‘n me. Lucifer was the first Guardian of the Morningstar, and everyone knows what happened to him. Then they gave it to poor old Anael and well _you_ certainly know what happened to him.”

“Her,” Dean corrected automatically. “Anna was a girl. I _checked_.” That last bit probably didn’t need to be quite so pointed.

“Same difference with angels, luv,” Constantine shrugged. “Point is angels - scared of the morning star. Superstition burns when you’re basically powered by 'aving arbitrary faith in your own existence. Enough of them get their knickers in a knot about something and it becomes true to all of 'em. Handy really.”

“And why can’t we just do it tonight... this morning?” Dean asked even though he knew he shouldn’t. Rule 2 of dealing with John Constantine was never give him a willing audience - ever. (Rule 1 was never trust the son of a bitch). But as usual knowing better didn’t actually stop him. At this point he wasn’t sure he would ever learn his lesson.

“Same reason – belief,” Constantine said. “It’s now officially Sunday. Too many idiots prayin’ away and bleeding energy into angels and such. Too much unfocused faith. Powers ‘em back up if they know how to tap it. And trust me Gabby knows how to tap it… Preparing the circle will take a while too, and Sam’ll need a lambs’ blood bath.” Of course. Because that was normal.

“I thought you were all for cutting off unnecessary corners?” Dean said with a trace of old resentment.

“Yeah, well in this case I want Plan A to work more ‘en I want it over with. Plan B is... worse... a lot worse. Also, and more importantly, I need a kip first.”

“You know,” Chas said putting the unfortunately inflicted Zed back into the animal cage. “I was going to ask if you’re seriously going to leave Zed stuck as a guinea pig for another 28 hours because you want a nap. But I know you _are_ serious." He shook his head. "Don't know why I said anything at all." It was scarily similar to Sam doing the same thing – usually directed at Dean. Maybe heavy 'put upon head shaking' came with the giant genetics.

“Fine,” Dean said. He already regretted this whole thing. No point arguing about it any further – he'd just end up with a headache. “Sober up, sleep, summon the archangel, save the guinea pig. Why not! It's almost a plan.”

If the way Constantine was smirking at him was any indication he might even get laid (if they could somehow lose all the prying eyes). Sometimes it was just easier to give in and roll with it. He'd had worse weekends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/) \- <http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/>


End file.
